by T. C. Edge
Finn, whose head had stayed low, rose slowly as Dom retook his seat. A silence fell over the square, and Finn lifted himself to his feet, his arms slowly rising out to his sides. His head stayed low, and Dom noticed that his eyes were closed, locked away in deep concentration.
Dom leaned forward a touch, suddenly intrigued, and around the yard, a low rumble begin to spread. It was subtle at first, tiny little tremors in the earth, spreading from where Finn stood in ripples and moving up through the house.
They gradually grew a little stronger, and Finn stayed completely still. Then, slowly but surely, the sand across the yard began to rise. It lifted from his feet, and from several metres away, and from all the way across the space towards the walls. All of it came, rising one metre, two metres into the air.
Then, suddenly, Finn’s hands swung in together, clapping loudly. And as they did, the sand gathered, shooting from all corners right to the centre where he stood, joining into a churning, pulsing mass of yellow and brown in front of him.
Dom’s eyes widened at the sight. His control was tremendous, far greater than he expected. He leaned further forward, and noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that his mother was doing the same.
The mass of sand then changed, altering its shape, forming into something more solid. Straight lines appeared, and curved features formed, and Dom watched as the structure of the great arena, the Colosseum, began to appear before him, built from sand and dirt and hovering in the air.
And still, Finn’s eyes remained closed, his mind drawing forth all memory of the great amphitheatre he saw when they first arrived. His depiction wasn’t perfect – columns were slightly wrong, the general proportions were off – but the end result was still quite staggering.
As the sand Colosseum hovered in the air, created and now perfectly suspended by Finn’s mind alone, the young man from the coast suddenly cast open his eyes. They shone out blue against the sunset, his hair seeming to catch the final rays of light and brighten before the royal assembly.
He looked Empress Vesper directly in the eye, and slowly, still holding the form of the great sand arena together, descended back down to his knee.
“I am honoured, Empress Vesper, to fight in your great arena,” he said, calling out proudly, confidently across the square.
Dom’s eyes stared with utter amazement at the transformation. He looked to have gained a decade in age, his posture perfect, reverent; his eyes like sky blue pebbles, undeviating and undeterred.
And to Dom’s side, Vesper’s mouth cracked into a smile. She nodded to Finn, and stood, a rare thing indeed for her to do.
“And I will look forward, young man, to seeing what else you can do.”
Finn held his eyes on her for a moment, then gradually they shut tight. And as they did, his hands drew apart, and the sand structure began to break down, turning back into a convoluted mass and then spreading again to all corners of the yard.
Dom was amazed. It was just what he’d hoped for from the young man, and gave him some solace that Finn might just make it through after all. If he could manage such control of a billion particles of sand, then what else could he do?
The question, really, was whether he could stand the pressure when his life was on the line. Performing here was one thing. Doing the same with your very existence under threat was something else entirely.
As the young man moved back into the prison, however, Vesper’s smile could hardly be suppressed. She turned first to Ares, who looked similarly surprised by the display. Then she turned to Dom with a query written across her face.
“Why is he seeded so low?” she asked. “You must have some sensational warriors coming up, Domitian.”
“I have some…”
“Well, whoever’s upcoming, this young man needs a decent billing. He should be seeded higher, Domitian. Ares, do you agree?”
Ares considered it. He was essentially Vesper’s version of Rufus, though maxed out on steroids.
“It really depends on how he performs in battle,” his voice came. It suited him perfectly. Measured, deep, fitted with a brimming authority and strength. “Conjuring shapes from the sand is potentially a championship winning ability. Can he control other such elements with equal skill?” he asked Dom. “Swords, blades, other items and weapons?”
Dom shook his head, though not because Finn couldn’t, but purely because he didn’t know.
“He’s yet to show it if he can. The boy is mentally capricious, prone to great doubt. I thought it too risky to place him higher.”
“Nonsense,” said Vesper loudly. “You’ll set him to a higher standing. He’ll draw interest from the crowd, and won’t be worth anything should he die in the first few days.”
She looked at Dom, and he was forced to comply. Then she turned her eyes back down to the sand.
“Now, who’s next?”
25
Kira waited her turn anxiously.
She’d seen Gwyn leave and return on the verge of tears. She’d watched Gecko climb the walls in the chamber with great skill and speed, warming up for his big show, only to return with shoulders slumped and eyes set on his feet.
She’d seen Finn leave the cells with a confidence she liked. He came down in much the same fashion, and quickly moved off into his little alcove before she could ask him how it went. The fact that the cell rumbled with some slight tremors during his performance suggested to Kira it went well.
More gladiators had since come and gone, and still her name was absent from the guards’ lips as they called them out to take the stage. Before too long, Lee was being summoned as fifth seed, shaking his head angrily as he went. He might have assumed he’d be higher. He was a very efficient and experienced hunter, and possessed some of the silkiest moves with a blade Kira had ever seen.
Yet, off he went, and now Kira looked around, knowing there were only four, including her, remaining. Shadow, she knew, would be seeded first, and she was full of confidence in Oom’s second placing. Third and fourth, then, would be her and Malvo, and either way, she was happy with the position.
From what she’d heard in the form of whispered rumour, while listening with her specialised hearing to the guards up above, the first five or so seeds were usually well placed to advance through the early stages of the games. To be third or fourth didn’t really matter, and considering the defeat she suffered to Shadow in their recent bout, she was perfectly happy with that.
It didn’t take Lee long to reappear. Mostly, the contenders only took a few minutes, the process seeming little more than a formality and part of the games’ tradition. He stepped back inside with a similar grumble to when he left, and Kira arched her ears in anticipation, waiting keenly for the sound of her name.
Then the guard called, “Malvo,” and she saw the squat mercenary look at her with a slight frown, his shoulders lifting into a little shrug.
“Good going, red-head,” he said to her.
Then he disappeared up the steps, and Kira settled back in, knowing this time that she had to be next. She paced from side to side, oddly nervous as though she was about to step out to fight, and found Malvo reappearing in what seemed like nary a minute.
It wasn’t, of course. It was actually several. But right now, Kira’s focus was centring on herself, her mind priming for the show. She stepped towards the gate before her name even came. The gate was opened by the guard, Malvo stepped in, and then the soldier merely looked at her and nodded.
“Yep, your turn,” he offered with a slight smile.
He led her straight up the stairs, and reaching the top, she found Rufus awaiting her inside the door. He looked her up and down and conducted a quick inspection.
“Straighten out those robes,” he said. “Make yourself presentable.”
Kira hadn’t noticed that one side of her combat robes had got slightly tangled in her armour. She shook the material free and looked back at Rufus.
“Good,” he said. “Now, what are you planning to do? Quickly no
w, we only have a moment.”
“Throw some knifes at targets,” she said. “Display my speed. Not much else I can do, Rufus. It’s hard to show off my senses.”
He nodded.
“You’re right, it is. Unfortunately, there are no pigeons in the yard right now,” he smirked. “However, there are targets, knives, blades and so on. I’d say start with the throwing knives, incorporate your speed, and display some agility if you can. The empress will be keen on you given your gender, so you should be fine.”
“She will?” asked Kira. It wasn’t something she’d considered. Growing up among a group of paramilitary rebels, gender never really played much of a role in her ‘working’ life.
Rufus nodded. “Empress Vesper likes unusual specimens, Kira. Anyone who’ll get the crowd talking. She was keen on Finn for his age and more unusual powers. You have the girl angle, the red-headed warrior. Use it.”
“Right, gotcha,” said Kira. Though, really, she didn’t know just how.
Unfortunately, she had no time to ask. Rufus turned immediately to the door, opened it up, and allowed Kira passage through.
“Remember to kneel and bow,” he whispered harshly as she passed.
She glanced a look of understanding at him as her feet began to crunch on the sand, eyes scanning left and right to see what weapons and props she might use. The sky was growing dim now, the sunset smiling its last, and all over the yard it was completely silent. Only the grind of the grit beneath her boots filled her sensitive ears as she reached the centre of the square, turned, and dropped to one knee.
For a second, she panicked, wondering if she’d chosen the right one. It was the right one…right? she thought. She had no time to change it even if it was. With her hands draped over her left knee, she bowed her head and awaited her instruction.
She heard the sound of someone standing on the balcony above. And then Domitian’s voice ran across the yard.
“Kira. Stand, face your empress, and begin your display.”
Something grated in his words. She stood and a slight glimmer of displeasure worked its way across her face as she guided her eyes up to the balcony. There, she saw Dom retaking his seat, and next to him, caught glimpse of Empress Vesper for the first time.
Your empress, he’d said. Kira’s expression flattened out. She wasn’t her empress…
The woman above looked at her with interest, and for a second or so, Kira did the same. She was a rounded woman, though not fat. It was hard to tell, really, given the layers of fine robes she seemed to be wearing, all wondrous colours of red and gold. Her hair was near-black, curled like Dom’s, and fixed into a tight formation up on top of her head, bound up in an intricate golden band that Kira took for a crown.
Kira looked at her, and though here to impress, felt no such desire climb into her head. No, this wasn’t her empress at all. She was just a woman from a foreign land, ruling a city and presiding over its slaves. She had plenty of experience of running despots out of town. That, after all, had consumed her life back in Haven. And here, looking at this woman, she thought only of Director Cromwell, the great dictator of Haven, the merciless Savant. She looked upon the plump woman, and as with Shadow, she saw her enemy.
And her scowl grew deep.
It was Dom’s voice that forced the spell to be broken. She hadn’t realised it, but she’d stared at the empress for a little too long, her mind taken back home for a time, losing its way.
“Kira, begin your display,” called out Dom for a second time, his voice cutting through the quiet and withdrawing her from her reverie.
She blinked a couple of times, and then focused on the empress again. Though now, the woman was looking at her in a different way. She had displeasure in her eyes.
Kira bowed, suddenly, as if to hide herself. Her eyes dropped, searching furtively left and right once more. She was shaken, and needed to regain her composure, do what she did best.
Spotting a set of throwing knives on one of the weapons displays, she pressed quickly forward, dashing from her post as quickly as she could.
She arrived with a trail of dust kicked up behind her, mingling with the warm hues of sunset, and quickly snatched up several knives. Around the perimeter of the yard, a number of wooden figures were set out. Two knives per hand, Kira whipped from one to the next, moving at a pace she hadn’t yet put on show here in the yard, and flinging knives as she went, aiming straight for the statues’ hearts, necks, and heads; anywhere that might strike a killing blow.
Yet not all hit their mark. She was rattled, unable to fully focus, thinking now only of home, of the slavery she fought back there, and the different form it took here…
A strange thought took her, and with one knife left, she felt herself turning up to the balcony, seeing her enemy look upon her. She wished to throw, to cut the woman down, to wipe the smirk from her mouth. To kill her as if she were Director Cromwell. To rid the world of someone it didn’t need or want, even if it meant sacrificing her own life in the process.
She stared with fierce eyes, but only for a second. And only for a second did that thought rise up. Then, thrusting it away, she thrust the knife too, guiding it straight across the yard at the most distant target she could find. This one hit dead centre, right between the eyes, cutting into the wood with a crack that split the air.
She stopped and drew a breath, wondering if she should go on. And then, from above, Dom’s voice rang out.
“That’ll do, Kira,” he said smoothly. She turned, and found rebuking, disappointed eyes staring back. “Go back to the cell. Empress Vesper has seen enough.”
Her eyes instinctively went to the empress once more. And the look they gave her set a chill to her blood.
She hadn’t impressed her as she should have.
No, she’d done quite the opposite.
Dom sat uncomfortably, looking over at his mother. Her eyes had changed shape, and her mood had gone rotten. She glared at Kira as she walked off, quickly escaping to the shade of the dungeon. And Dom had seen that look before.
What the hell was Kira thinking?
“Right, mother, shall we bring out the next one?” Dom asked hurriedly. “I think you’ll really like him. I won’t spoil it for you, but he’s very lar…”
“Shut up, Domitian.”
Her words stung like a scorpion, paralysing his voice. She drew a long breath and turned her eyes to her son.
“This girl, Kira,” she said. “Tell me about her.”
Dom smiled awkwardly, and took a sip of wine.
“Well, I got her in Haven,” he said. “She’s a warrior, has been all her life, and is part of the rebels over there.”
Vesper’s eyes showed complete disinterest. She waved her hand dismissively.
“Oh, that pathetic rebellion won’t go anywhere,” she said. “Haven is a city in the middle of a land of barbarians. No wonder she had eyes like she did…and looked at me like she did. I can’t have that. I won’t be disrespected. This girl doesn’t belong in the upper seedings.”
“But mother!” said Dom, perhaps too vociferously. He calmed his voice. “She’s…highly gifted. Don’t judge her on this display alone.”
Vesper looked upon Dom quietly, face etched in a growing disappointment. And a growing understanding.
“Don’t tell me you have a thing for the girl, Domitian.”
“No…not at all,” countered Dom defensively. “Ask Rufus, mother. He’s instructed her. He knows…”
“I don’t care what Rufus has to say,” she said plainly. “He has no bearing whatsoever on my opinion. Only Ares does in matters of combat, and even were he to announce that this rebel girl had tremendous talent and potential, it would NOT change my mind. I saw her eyes, Domitian. That knife was close to being flung. She will not be seeded at number three. You will lift the previous contenders up, and place the young boy from the coast in a higher position.”
“But…”
“But nothing,” she snapped. “That is my decisio
n. I had hoped for this warrior girl to impress me today. But no, she is wild and untameable. I see that in her. She will get no easy ride here. And you, my son, will not give her any favourable treatment again. You have mingled with slave-girls before, and it is not becoming of a prince to do so!”
Her words brought with them a silence, one that hung in the air for some time after. Dom had no power to argue with her or change her mind. Her good mood and form had been dispelled. He had to tread lightly to avoid further igniting her ire.
Only when a suitable amount of time had passed did he speak. And though he asked the question, he already knew the answer.
“Where do you wish her to be placed, mother?” he asked quietly.
She lifted her chin, enjoying the total command and authority she employed.
“The girl will enter the cull,” she said. “If she’s as gifted as you believe, then let her prove it.”
She smiled, and turned her eyes back to the square. Her fingers lifted to the air, and clipped together. Immediately, Silia came running.
“I think I will have some wine, after all,” she said, with some odd, victorious flow to her voice. “Now come, Domitian…your final two seeds better impress me.”
26
There were many squalid places in the city. Places where rats would hardly even wish to tread. Places of festering disease, of morbid crime, of extreme depravity and vice. Within the swamps, such places existed, and Merk had seen them all.
Yet right now, he was seeing a place that put all others to shame. A place of unholy stink and gloom, of despair and fear and all-consuming misery. A place, in the end, where nightmares dwelled and death ruled. Where all inhabitants were set to die.
Merk had plenty of experience of prisons, of course, though always from the other side of the bars. Around the city, there were several of them, though none could have been as bad as this. Within the holding cell he currently found himself, there must have been another fifty men, squashed in like cattle in a pen.